

'WODERN 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



MODERN ATHENS 




An Old Byzantine Church. 



MODERN ATHENS 



BY 



GEORGE HORTON 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

CORWIN KNAPP LINSON 




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NEW YORK 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1901 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Received 

SEP. 28 1901 

/Copyright entry 
CLASS ^XXc. N». 

/7/SZ 

COPY B. 



Copyright, 1901, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

Published, October, 1901 



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TROW DIRECTORY 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 

NEW YORK 



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ILLUSTRATIONS 



An Old Byzantine Church 



Frontispiece 
Page 



A Typical Street — Kolokotrones Street — Late After 
noon ...... 

General View of Athens and the Acropolis . 

Discussing Affairs ..... 

In Front of the Stadium .... 

A Water-Seller on the Street 

Spiro Loues, Winner of the Marathon Road Race in 
the Olympian Games, 1896 

Constitution Square — Late Afternoon . 

A Major of the Greek Army 

At the Zappeion ..... 

A Sunset .....'. 

A Siesta at Noonday . 

The Theseion, from the Gardens 

The Resort of the Lowly — Marionettes 

A Goatherd 

Koulouria! ...... 

Typical Greek House .... 

Houses on the Side of the Acropolis 

Street Leading down from the Acropolis 



5 

10 

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*7 

*9 
20 
21 

23 
25 
28 

32 

37 
41 
43 
49 
53 
55 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Smoking a Narghile . 

Under Her Own Vine 

An Athens Kitchen . 

For the Baker's Oven 

A Greek Papas 

In His Stately Flowing Robe 

A Wedding among the People 

A Funeral Procession 

A March Day — Place de la Constitution 

Near an Old Mosque 

The Nike Apteros and the Propylaea, Acropolis 

Choragic Monument of Lysicrates 



57 
58 

59 
60 
61 
62 
64 
66 

7 2 
75 
86 
88 



VI 




A Typical Street — Kolokotrones Street, Late Afternoon. 



MODERN ATHENS 



i 



FEW people, save Greeks, know that modern 
Athens is in reality two cities, each differing 
from the other in climate, in traditions, and, 
to a great extent, in character of population. Winter 
Athens, roughly speaking, is the resort of tourists, 
diplomats, and climate-seekers. It is a European city 
where one eats course dinners at the Angleterre Hotel, 
attends service at the English Church, dances the barn 
dance at Madame Schliemann's, and plays charades in 
the library of the American School. In winter Athens 
one talks English or bad French. Even your Greek 
friends persist in greeting you with a " bon zoor, 
moshiou," when you meet them in the street, and you 
go to the Opera House to hear the " Chimes of Nor- 
mandy " sung by a company from Paris. The climate 
of the European period is delightfully cool, with fre- 
quent rains. The genuine Greeks, who have no fires 
in their houses, and no heating apparatus other than 
portable braziers, will tell you that it is bitter cold, 
although the thermometer may deny that the freezing- 



MODERN ATHENS 

point has been reached. At this season the gentlemen 
of the place stride about in long circular cloaks, reach- 
ing to their heels, garments similar to the military 
waterproofs of the officers. The latter are fond of 
pulling their hoods over their heads when it rains, and 
of pumping downward with the handles of their swords 
as they strut about, tenting their cloaks out behind. 
Groups of stalwart evzones, arrayed strangely like bal- 
let dancers, can be seen sitting on the sunny side of 
cafes. 

This state of affairs lasts from about October ist till 
May ist. Then all is changed. The diplomats and 
the climate-seekers hie them away, and the tourists cease 
to come. And now the Greeks swarm in from Egypt, 
from Turkey, and from Roumania, and fill the hotels. 
They drink resin wine and masticha at a penny the 
glass ; they eat pilaff, stuffed courgas, and fish with 
garlic-sauce, by candle-light in the squares ; they attend 
the open-air theatres to hear the divine Paraskevopou- 
lou in the " Medea," or the wonderful Pantopoulos in 
some island comedy, and everybody talks Greek. 
Your Greek friends, when they meet you in the streets, 
salute you with " *aV r^if-pa, icvpie "(Good-day, sir). 
So, you see, if you have not lingered on into the sum- 
mer you know little of the real modern Athens. This, 
too, is the Athens of classic dust and of purple sunsets. 
And how suddenly the transformation from winter to 
summer takes place ! You are walking about jauntily 
with no overcoat, despite the fact that the Greeks are 



MODERN ATHENS 

bundled up, and that they tell you, shiveringly, " It's 
very cold." You wait and wait for the advent of win- 
ter and then, all at once, the natives are abroad in light 
clothing and they cry out, gayly, " Spring has come ! " 
And lo ! the almond-trees have shaken out their 
scented kerchiefs and the anemones are blooming by 
the roadside. 

Let us suppose that we are approaching the harbor 
of the Piraeus, on a visit to summer Athens. We 
stand upon the prow of our ship that is purring through 
the sky-blue waters of the Mediterranean, and strain 
eager eyes for the first view of the famous city. Pres- 
ently there is a shout of " There it is ! there it is ! " 
and we gaze in the direction indicated by a dozen ex- 
tended arms, but we see nothing. " Where ? Where ? " 
we ask eagerly, for a dream that has haunted us since 
childhood is now about to be realized. 

" Do you see that great column of dust yonder ? " 
someone kindly explains. " That is where Athens is." 

A sea-scape, softly, deeply blue ; a landscape misty 
gray, piled thick with purple mountains, and there^ 
seemingly at the foot of the hither hills a great white 
pillar of dust. They tell us that the ancient sea-roam- 
ers, faring home from the northern coast of Africa or 
from beyond the Pillars of Heracles, beheld from afar 
the spear-tip of the great statue of Athena Promachos, 
and knew their toils were over. The latter-day Greek, 
returning to his native land from New York, London, 
or Buenos Ayres, feels that he is indeed home again 

3 



MODERN ATHENS 

when he sees that prehistoric cloud of floating marble. 
We know where to look now, and soon the Acropolis, 
the most famous hill in the world, and its twin, Lyca- 
bettus, practically ignored by ancient writers, take 
vague shape and grow more and more distinct. And 
there is the Parthenon, seen now for the first time, and 
yet so familiar in contour and position that the busy 
years slip from us like a dream and we imagine our- 
selves back in the school-room delving in the old 
Smith's history. I had not been three days in Athens 
when I met two jolly Catholic priests from Pittsburg, 
dining in the garden of the European restaurant. 

" Have you been up on the Acropolis yet ? " I 
asked them — the standard question that one always 
puts to a new-comer in the Greek capital. 

" No," replied one of them. " We have decided 
not to go up. What's the use P It looks just, as it 
does in the pictures." My clerical friend could not 
have better described the impression made on one by 
a first view of the Acropolis from afar. The chief 
element in that impression is the feeling of familiar- 
ity. No vision on all the globe has been made such 
common property of civilized man as the Temple of 
Athena, once the crowning glory of a thousand years 
of culture, now their fitting monument. 

Half an hour before we cast anchor in the harbor 
of the Piraeus, boats with white and reddish-brown 
sails come dancing toward us over the waves, and 
others swarm along more slowly, propelled by eager 

4 



MODERN ATHENS 

oars. Some of the rowers stand erect, facing their 
prows, bending and straightening with a rhythmic 
swing. Those first alongside catch the ship with long 
hooks and scramble aboard. You are surrounded in 
a trice by coatless, perspiring Greeks, who pluck you 
by either sleeve demanding, " Varka P " "Bark?" 
" Do you want a boat, Mr. ? " There is no possible 
escape, and there is garlic to right of you, garlic to left 
of you. The only alternative is to select one of the 
number immediately and turn over to him your porta- 
ble baggage. 

There is a noisy little railroad running from the 
Piraeus to Athens, but it is usually about as cheap to 
traverse the distance by carriage, as a number of 
Athenian cabmen are sure to be waiting on the wharf. 
They have brought fares down, or say they have, 
which amounts to the same thing, and are willing to 
let you ride up with them for two or three drachmas. 
You will remember that ride through the Attic plain. 
The sun is white hot, the dust penetrating, impal- 
pable, sneeze-producing. The dark green of the vine- 
yards is sifted with flour-like dust, and the trees by the 
roadside, trimmed to resemble feather dusters, seem to 
have been recently used and then stuck back in the 
ground without shaking. Once, at least, en route, the 
carriage stops at a wayside inn, a low adobe building 
whose front door is shaded by a climbing grape-vine. 
From a near-by well, with round stone mouth and 
long sweep, the host brings water to the thirsty ani- 

6 



MODERN ATHENS 

mals, and then he appears at the carriage-door with a 
tray containing two or three glasses of light yellow 
wine, as many portions of a watery-looking fluid and 
a pile of Turkish delight in little cubes. You must 
select something and put a few pennies on the tray. It 
is thus you pay for the horses' water. If you are an 
entire stranger in the land it will be safer to choose 
the loukoumi (Turkish delight) and a glass of water. 
Loukoumi is a palatable sweet, like our gum-drops, 
and you will enjoy it. If, on the other hand, you are 
anxious to become a genuine Athenian as soon as pos- 
sible, you will do well to select one of the stronger 
drinks. No one is a genuine Athenian who cannot 
drink without a grimace both retsinato wine and mas- 
ticha. The former is the vin ordinaire of the city. 
It is wholesome and perhaps classic, but it tastes to 
the novice like those brands of cough medicine whose 
chief ingredient is tar. Masticha is the appetizer, the 
cocktail of Greece. The uneducated palate pronounces 
it paregoric. 

Our most useful impressions of a place, for descrip- 
tive purposes, are gained during the first few days of 
our stay in it. After that the mental film loses its 
sensitiveness, and we are less able to discriminate be- 
tween new sights and those that have been familiar to 
us all our lives. The person who rides into Athens 
for the first time on a summer's day is fairly over- 
whelmed with the brightness of it. It is a city of the 
sun, a city fairly blinding to eyes accustomed to the 



MODERN ATHENS 

dull skies of London or New York. The sky is ex 
traordinarily clear, and as vividly transparent as the 
windows in a photographic studio. The square houses, 
of stone and stucco, are nearly all kalsomined to a daz- 
zling whiteness. In the case of the few exceptions, the 
whitewash has been tinted a delicate pink, cream-color, 
or blue, and they are all roofed, from the King's pal- 
ace down to the meanest hovel, with red tiles. White 
and red — the colors of fire and heat. 

They have a proverb in Athens that C( only fools 
and foreigners walk out in the middle of the day." 
Certainly the average American needs to live a long 
time in Greece or the Orient before he becomes will- 
ing to adapt himself to the requirements of the cli- 
mate. If you bustle out at noon-day you will wonder 
why your green cotton umbrella does not protect your 
eyes from the glare. It is because the sidewalk is 
covered with glittering particles of marble, ground in- 
finitely fine, and the street is alive with the same 
sort of dust. Your eyes will be apt to suffer more 
than the top of your head, and the only relief you can 
get from them is to hold the sun-shade down near the 
walk and look into it. 

And how still it is — white light and silence ! The 
shopkeepers have let curtains fall in their open doors 
and are dozing on chairs or on counters. The street- 
cars have stopped running and the cabmen have driven 
into the shade and are nodding upon their boxes. 
Even the bootblacks, as enterprising and as precocious 



MODERN ATHENS 

as their confreres in America at proper business hours, 
have made pillows and cushions of their kits, and are 
wrapped in sleep that a king might envy. Everybody, 
except the bustling foreigner, respects the noon-day 
nap in Athens. An Athenian would no more waken 
a bootblack enjoying his siesta than he would hit him 
with a club. The two acts would be equal in cruelty. 
The proper way to enjoy the siesta is to darken your 
room and go regularly to bed. There will not be a 
sound to disturb you, not. the rattle of a wheel, nor 
the barking of a dog, nor a voice in the streets. If 
there is a tree near the window anywhere, you will 
probably hear the drowsy, monotonous rasping of a 
cicada. As you stir lazily upon the sheet of pure 
linen, always finding a cool spot, as your senses become 
lulled to a forgetfulness of everything save bliss and 
comfort, as the cares and responsibilities of life tiptoe 
from the room, leaving you dead to all consciousness 
save that of utter peace, you begin to know what Nir- 
vana is. 

The Athenians are not so lazy as they would appear 
to be from their habit of the noon-day rest. The old- 
fashioned Greek gentleman, for instance, rises very 
early in summer, often at four o'clock, in the glorious 
time of the day. He goes to market and sends home 
the provisions for the twelve o'clock breakfast and the 
late dinner, with minute directions to the cook ; he 
takes a cigarette and a cup of black Turkish coffee on 
the sidewalk in front of his favorite cafe, and he then 



MODERN ATHENS 



devotes himself to business and politics until noon- 
time. After breakfast he sleeps till four, when he 
usually takes a sweetmeat at home or at a pastry shop 
and then he is ready for work again until dinner-time. 




The Athenians dine late the year round, and, when- 
ever the weather will permit, in the open air. As the 
heated season advances, the dinner-hour is set later 



MODERN ATHENS 

and later, until in August half-past nine or ten be- 
comes the common thing. Fancy going to the theatre 
after that ! Yet the open-air performances are liber- 
ally patronized and they do not begin, of course, till 
after dinner. The legend, "curtain rises promptly at 
nine " is a snare and a delusion, as many a foreigner 
has found to his extreme annoyance. 

The out-of-door dining and the sky-roofed theatres 
are so typically Greek that they serve as a link be- 
tween modern and classical times. The old Greek, as 
everybody knows, was an out-door man, his house 
serving as little more than a sleeping-place and store- 
room. The Athenian of to-day dines in a garden, on 
his terrace or in a park. If he is too poor to possess 
any of these accessories, he sets his table upon the side- 
walk. Many of the cheap restaurants appropriate the 
walks for dining-rooms. One is often compelled, 
when taking an evening stroll, to dodge in and out 
among dozens of tables covered with reasonably clean 
linen and lighted by means of candles whose flames 
are protected from the wind by means of glass globes. 

The more pretentious restaurants and some of the 
hotels have their own gardens, where the patrons eat 
under the trees, in the searching glare of electricity. 
How sweetly cool it is in one of these gardens, how 
truly Bohemian, how far removed from the stress, 
struggle, and nervousness of the great Anglo-Saxon 
idea ! The food is excellent, cheap, and varied, the 
waiters most attentive. 



MODERN ATHENS 

I suppose that one can eat anc 1 drink as cheaply 
and as well in Athens as in an city of the world. 
The cooking is in several styles and the food is of 
extraordinary variety and quality. The distinctively 
native dishes include innumerable stuffed things, fish 
prepared in various ways, soup or chowder with egg 
and lemon, and boiled greens, eaten with olive-oil and 
lemon-juice. Among the Turkish dishes are the ever- 
present pilafi, and a choice of heavy, soggy sweetmeats 
whose chief ingredients are almonds, spices, and syrup. 
These latter go by such fearful names as galaktobou- 
riko, cadaefi, baklava. They are indigestible and fat- 
tening, but they are not a serious menace to the 
ordinary traveller, who cannot call for them. 

As for the city's food-supply, it draws upon the un- 
rivalled gardens of the Attic plain, the early largess of 
the Mediterranean isles, and the orchards on the 
mountain-slopes of Thessaly. The sea feeds the city 
with an almost countless variety of fish, while wood- 
cock, pigeons, quail, and partridges, are so plentiful that 
they cease to be a luxury. There are no muskmelons 
on earth like those raised by the King of Greece at 
Tato'i, and the Turkish pashas used to come to Athens 
each season to eat the basilika figs. You can dine at 
Athens at prices varying from a drachma up. The 
drachma is a depreciated paper franc, of fluctuating 
value— usually worth about twelve cents. 

But we must not forget to visit the market, which is 
one of the most picturesque and interesting places in 

12 



MARBLE WOBKERSat.the.sxADION. 




U 



In front of the Stadium. The Acropolis 
in distance — also Stadion Bridge. 



^ ; c : : 



MODERN ATHENS 

modern Athens. I fancy that when I spoke of the 
Greek gentleman as going to market at four o'clock in 
the morning and sending home his dinner, I called up 
a picture of butchers' and green-grocers' wagons arriv- 
ing at the house two or three hours later. Nothing 
could be farther from the truth. The army of boot- 
blacks and news-boys in Athens is supplemented by 
still another guild of bright, industrious little chaps — 
the market-boys. These hang about the entrances to 
the spacious, glass-roofed structure where the stalls are 
housed, or they lay in wait along the streets leading to 
it. Each carries a basket, supplied with straps for 
passing under the shoulders, by which it is supported 
on the back. The moment you show the least indi- 
cation of turning in toward the market, these sturdy, 
good-natured, ragged, impudent little fellows fall upon 
you like pirates and will not be denied. You must 
select one as soon as possible, if you do not wish to be 
the centre and cause of a veritable riot. He will fol- 
low you about for an hour or so and you can drop your 
purchases into his basket, sure that he will find your 
house, and will deliver your minute directions without 
error. For this service a Greek pays him two cents, 
and a foreigner four — for no one is quicker to learn the 
prehistoric distinction between Greek and barbarian 
than your market-boy. The interior of the building 
is devoted to the green-groceries and game upon the 
one side and the fish upon the other. Before the vege- 
table stalls hang long strings of quail, partridges, wild 

14 



MODERN ATHENS 

ducks, plover, woodcock, hedgehogs, chickens, and tur- 
keys, the latter with their crops pompously inflated to 
give them an extra-fat appearance. Not infrequently 
wild boar from Thessaly, deer, and splendid golden 
pheasants are added to the array. In the centre, upon 
tables and upon floor, are to be found heaps of wild 
greens in season, for boiling, and of sea-foods, strange 
to the ordinary Anglo-Saxon — pinnas, devil-fish, clams 
shaped like Brazil-nuts, and heaps of whitebait from 
Phaleron, leaping like bits of animated silver in piles 
of green sea-weed. The display of fish includes all the 
varieties of the Mediterranean — always fresh, generally 
alive. Specially detailed officers are on hand to con- 
demn stale exhibits, which are promptly thrown on the 
floor of the market and carted away. As far as I could 
see, there is no politics connected with the tenure of 
these officers, nor are they open to corruption. Cer- 
tain it is that they perform their duties relentlessly and 
without fear or favor. Schedules posted in conspicu- 
ous places by the chief of police, list the legal prices of 
leading articles and prevent extortion. 

The fruit-stores and the meat-booths are mainly on 
the exterior of the main building, surrounding its four 
sides. As much of the butchering is done on the spot, 
it is not pleasant to visit this part of the market when 
lambs, for instance, are being killed. The sight is suf- 
ficient to cause a tender-hearted person to turn vegeta- 
rian — a veritable slaughter of the innocents. 

Lamb and its cousin goat are the favorite meat in 

J 5 



MODERN ATHENS 

Athens, where the situation is well expressed in the fa- 
mous line of Byron, " For beef is scarce within these 
oxless isles/' I have often seen a tiny market-boy 
with his basket loaded to the brim, and the carcass of 
a lamb bent about his neck. 

But I have said so much about early rising, sleeping 
in the heat of the day and dining late at night, that 
the reader no doubt wonders why Athens should be 
considered a summer-resort by the real Greeks. He 
would not wonder had he ever passed the heated sea- 
son in Alexandria or Cairo. As for the northern 
Greeks, they no doubt come to the metropolis of their 
race for the sake of the companionship. Besides, as a 
learned professor once said to me, there are the " ele- 
ments of coolness in the Athens climate." In the 
professor's case, the " elements " consisted of a shade- 
tree and a refreshing drink. The difference in the mat- 
ter of comfort between sun and shade is very striking. 
One always feels a pleasing chill in stepping from the 
former into the latter. The very heat, too, is made an 
agent of producing its opposite. Most of the drink- 
ing-water consumed by the Athenians is cooled by 
means of evaporation, which, in that dry climate, takes 
place very rapidly. The porous jugs of brown earthen- 
ware which you find upon the restaurant tables or upon 
the balcony of your sleeping-room, are sure to be full 
of deliciously cool water. It suffices only that they be 
set in the shade. Skill in the selection of these jugs is 
one of the little details which enter into Oriental life 

16 



MODERN ATHENS 

and make it truly typical. They are tested by tapping 
with the knuckles and by critical examinations as to 
color, degree of hardness, etc. If they are too porous 
they leak, if not porous enough they do not perspire. 
It is easy to see that the selection of a good cooling 
jug is a matter of great importance in a family. 




A Water-seller on the Street. 



Perhaps the study of points analogous with this 
would give us a clearer idea of the every-day life and 
thought of ancient civilization. Certain it is that the 
sale of pottery is one of the very oldest of callings, and 
that the pottery merchant tied his vessel to the wharves 
even of Homeric towns, and spread out his wares upon 

17 



MODERN ATHENS 

the breakwater — even as he does to-day. I believe 
that the best cooling jugs now come from the island of 
iEgina (pronounced — nearly — Egg-ina and accented 
upon the first syllable). 

The water-supply of Athens should be fairly good, 
but as the conduits are open and the reservoir not very 
carefully guarded, it is subject to contamination. 
There is, therefore, a brisk sale for the water brought 
in barrels and large " stamnas " or jugs, from Kaisa- 
riane and Marousi. The barrels are placed at con- 
venient street-corners and are cooled also by evapora- 
tion. They are wrapped in thick blankets of straw 
matting, which is frequently soaked by the vender. 
The contents retail at five lepta, or a cent, for one or 
two glasses, as the purchaser may desire. These bar- 
rels are a great institution, for the Greek is essential- 
ly a water-drinker. He takes an occasional glass of 
wine or masticha, it is true, but water is the beverage 
which he really relishes. The vice of drunkenness is 
reduced to a minimum. It is not sufficiently rife to 
be worth preaching against. The water-barrels are 
filled mainly at Kaisariane, a deserted monastery a few 
miles out of the city, on the slope of Mount Hymet- 
tus. Spiridon Loues, the young shepherd who won 
the foot-race from Marathon, at the Olympian Games 
in 1896, is the chief distributer of the Marousi water. 
This idyllic little town lies off toward Pentelicon, on 
the road to Kephissia and Tatoi, the King's summer 
residence. If you start for Marousi on a bicycle or 

18 



MODERN ATHENS 



on foot a little before sunrise on a summer's morn- 
ing, you are sure to meet Loues and two or three of 
his men jogging city- ward through the violet-gray 
dawn, with mule-carts 
laden with huge red 
jars of porous earth, 
for the Athenian 
kitchens. The privi- 
lege of selling this 
water was given to 
Loues as a reward for 
his victory in the great 
foot-race. His fellow- 
townsmen regard him 
as a modern Pheidip- 
pides, and they have 
shown their apprecia- 
tion of the honor 
which he has brought 
to Marousi. 

But all this is apropos of the statement that there 
are " elements of coolness " in the Athenian climate. 
In the afternoon, as soon as the sun has sunk behind 
the houses and distant mountains, and the long shad- 
ows begin to creep across the town, the leisure classes 
stroll into Constitution Square, or on to the little 
plateau of the Zappeion, to show their fine feathers, 
to listen to the music of the military bands, and to 
converse. At these hours there is a liberal con- 

19 




Spiro Loues, Winner of the Marathon Road 
Race in the Olympian Games, 1896. 



MODERN ATHENS 

^CONSTITUTION-- SCUXAim .TtATE AFTERNOON*— 







M 






iSH' 



- • 



■1 






sumption of Turkish sweets and of French and Italian 



ices. 



The greatest hospitality prevails, but reciprocal and 
endless treating is practically unknown. If you sit 
down at a table pre-empted by an acquaintance, you 
are his guest, and it is contrary to etiquette to offer 
him anything. 



MODERN ATHENS 

There are no fustanellas at these public gatherings, 
nor does one see the picturesque head-dress and jacket 
worn of old time by the women. Fashionable Greeks 
get their idea of dress 
from Paris. The women * 

patronize French mo- 
distes largely or bring 
their gowns from the |p 

French capital. They 
dress gayly, for the most 
part, as do most southern / f | 

races, affecting such bright / 

colors as red and yellow. 
In summer the numerous 
officers wear white from ^ y "|I 

head to foot, relieved jv 

only by the gold tassels ^. r 

of their sword-handle, or 
the bits of color in their 
chevrons. j 

There are two princi- 
pal squares in Athens, at I 
either end of Stadion I 
Street. Omonia or Con- ^-£9*^' ^ l 
cord Square is much loved 

1 A Major of the Greek Army. 

by the common folk, the 

Place of the Constitution being the fashionable ren- 
dezvous 

The King's palace, a clumsy, ugly, barracks-like 

21 



MODERN ATHENS 

structure, belonging to the heirs of King Otho, looks 
down upon Constitution Square from a slight emi- 
nence, and the leading hotels of the town surround it 
upon the other three sides. The building for several 
years occupied by the Crown Prince Constantine, as a 
residence, and as the chief bureau of the Olympian 
Games is also here. It has been recently converted 
into a brasserie, for Constantine has at last moved into 
his beautiful new house, back of the King's gardens — 
a more suitable home for his consort, the sister of 
William of Germany. 

The view from the Zappeion, the building in which 
the permanent industrial exposition of Greece is 
housed, is the most entrancing in Athens. Sitting 
there at sun-down sipping his black coffee, the mod- 
ern Greek beholds enough of present beauty and de- 
parted glory to make him both very proud and very 
sad. Immediately before him is a garden of palms 
and flowers overlooked by marble statues of the two 
brothers who built the Zappeion and after whom it is 
named. A broad flight of marble steps leads down to 
a lower level, where are the remains of a Roman gym- 
nasium and a fair specimen of mosaic flooring. Farther 
away are the imposing pillars of the great Temple of 
Zeus, not reverenced by scholars as an expression of 
the genuine Greek spirit, yet none the less the majes- 
tic ruins of the house of a dead god. Like tall chief- 
tains, the columns are gathered there in lyonesse, mak- 
ing their last stand against the onswarming years. One 



MODERN ATHENS 

that has fallen recently, lies as straight as though it had 
received its death-wound and lain calmly down to die. 
These columns are fifty-five feet in height (about) and 
six and a half in diameter, and at their base enterpris- 
ing Greeks have set out puny tables whereon coffee is 
served and the inevitable loukoumi. One is tempted 
to compare these puny merchants with the men who 
built the Olympiion and to comment in this connec- 
tion on the degeneracy of the modern Greeks. But 
this is not fair. In the time of Peisistratus, who 
founded the temple, and in the days of Hadrian, who 
finished it, there were doubtless individuals whose 
minds would have fitted very nicely into a coffee-cup. 
Men of dwindled souls have existed in all ages of the 
world. The modern Athenians do not build temples 
to Zeus, but they are trying to found schools and an 
untrammelled press, and they are giving more money, 
per capita, than any people in the world to public 
libraries, hospitals, reformatory institutions, etc. Very 
recently the munificence of George AberofT, the new 
Herodes Atticus, caused the sound of hammer and 
chisel to be heard again in the Stadium after a lapse of 
nearly twenty centuries. This act of liberality attracted 
the attention of the civilized world, yet it was but one 
example of a long series of bequests and donations on 
the part of wealthy Greeks to the city of Athens, and 
to Greece in general. 

If, as we sit there in the shadow of the Zappeion, 
we raise our eyes a little, looking through and beyond 

24 



MODERN ATHENS 

the columns of the Olympiion, we behold the sea 
gleaming beyond the Attic plain and, farther away, 
iEgina floating in a purple haze. The abrupt wall of 
the Acropolis rises at our right, some distance away, 
and the slopes of Hymettus are within view at our 
left. It will pay us to keep our eyes fixed upon the 
slopes of Hymettus just as the sun is going down. 
During the few moments immediately following the 
disappearance of that luminary the sides of the moun- 
tain are bathed in a deep, soft, yet quite vivid violet 
hue. This is the most transporting, most poetic spec- 
tacle on earth — the far-famed transfiguration of Hy- 
mettus. The mountain is wrapped in the atmosphere 
of happy dreams ; it appears unreal because it has be- 
come too beautiful for this latter-day world. It was 
a fitting apparition, perhaps, in that golden age when 
the love of beauty was man's religion, but it looks 
lonely and strange now. No painter can paint it, no 
words can tell it. The man who has once lived within 
sight of Hymettus cherishes to his dying day the 
intention to return and live there again. The poet or 
the dreamer who has looked but once upon that violet 
glow is homesick for it ever after. It is the light of 
the soul's desire, the light of utter loveliness, of lost 
years, of unforgotten loves and songs unsung. 

It is a glorious sight, too, to see the full moon rise 
from behind Hymettus, large as a votive shield. The 
mountain's familiar outline is sketched sharply against 
the sky as with one long sweep of a god's pencil and 

27 



MODERN ATHENS 

the white houses of the beautiful city creep into the 
pale glow, street after street. It is no wonder the old 
Greeks worshipped the moon, for she is most glorious 
in Greece. Her splendor does not seem borrowed 
there, but has sway and character. And when that 
great orb is floating serenely above Hymettus, kiss- 
ing tenderly the shafts of ancient temples, piercing 
the darkness between the pillars of the Parthenon, and 
rubbing the breath of night from the silvery mirror of 
the sea, one knows that he is indeed in Athens, the 
only eternal city. Even the driest professional archae- 
ologist feels the presence of mighty ghosts when he 
walks by full moonlight among the ruins of the 
Acropolis. 



M 



sq 






28 



II 



THE sojourner in summer Athens who under- 
stands the modern vernacular fairly well, will 
derive extraordinary pleasure from visiting the 
open-air theatres, for the Athenian of to-day, like the 
Greeks of twenty centuries ago, considers the sky a 
sufficient roof for his play-house. But the analogy 
does not extend much farther. The old Greek went 
to the theatre in the daytime, sat patiently for hours 
upon a bank of earth, a wooden slab, or, later, upon a 
marble seat. He listened to the plays of Phrynichus 
and iEschylus, of Aristophanes and Maenander, in the 
broiling sun, with the actual sea, the olive-groves and 
the distant islands for scenery and drop-curtain. The 
modern Athenian, as we have seen, goes to the theatre 
very late at night. He takes his place in an enclosure, 
roofed over by the sky, it is true, but furnished with 
modern footlights and painted scenery. The long dry 
season renders the open-air theatre quite practicable, 
and it is much more comfortable to sit at night under 
the cool sky than in a hot room. The worst menace 
to enjoyment is the immemorial flea, but the natives 
have become accustomed to him. They even bring 
numerous little dogs to the theatre with them, and 

29 



MODERN ATHENS 

these animals are running around continually among 
the legs of the spectators, dropping off whole colonies 
of fleas — and your flea is a most enthusiastic expan- 
sionist. But this matter of insects is purely a question 
of acclimatization. After one has lived for some time 
in a tropic land he is lonely without them. 

On one occasion, at least, I have seen the Greek 
prove true to his traditions. The ancient audience, 
when listening to a long contest between two or more 
of its great dramatists, must have been forgetful of heat 
and of cold. I doubt if a shower would have driven 
it away just before the tremendous climax in the " Aga- 
memnon." Once it began to rain while I was attending 
an interpretation by Paraskevopoulou of the " Medea," 
done into modern Greek from a French play founded 
upon the ancient legend. It continued to rain, and 
not a soul moved. It poured, and not a seat was de- 
serted. Finally the actress advanced to the footlights 
and asked, familiarly, in the vulgarest vernacular pos- 
sible : Bpixei Bca rl 8ev Kofiere \clgiti ; " It's raining ; 
why don't you take French leave ? " And a great 
shout went up : " Go on, go on, never mind the rain." 
The delicacy and force of this tribute are the better un- 
derstood when one reflects that the stage in such thea- 
tres is covered. The performance was finished despite 
the rain. 

Evangelia Paraskevopoulou is known in Greece as 
the " Athenian Sara Bernhardt." She is a remark- 
able example of the power of genius to lift one up out 

3° 



MODERN ATHENS 

of the slough of poverty and ignorance. Her origin 
was very humble, and she has never had the advan- 
tages of an education, yet she plays to crowded houses 
wherever enough Greeks can be got together to make 
up an audience — in Athens or in other parts of Greece, 
in Egypt or Roumania. The only other Athenian 
tragic actress who has dared to dispute supremacy with 
her is Aikaterina Verone. Strangely enough neither 
of these women is beautiful. There has been consid- 
erable talk among wealthy Greeks of bringing Paras- 
kevopoulou to America, and of starring her with an 
English-speaking company. She would speak Greek, 
as the elder Salvini did Italian, the remainder of the 
company using English. She would be able to give a 
good account of herself. 

A great comic actor who is seen every year in 
Athens is E. Pantopoulos. It would be hard to find 
a living Greek who has not heard of him, or a public 
idol anywhere whose fame is more thoroughly scattered 
among his own countrymen. Pantopoulos studies 
principally the costumes, character, and dialects of the 
queer old island farmers, whom he reproduces upon the 
mimic stage with absolute fidelity. He does not " act." 
Art is forgotten in his case, for it is swallowed up in nat- 
ure. He actually becomes for the time being the charac- 
ter written down in the play. There is not a false tone, 
accent, or gesture, and his audience, many of whom are 
of rustic origin or who have at least lived in the coun- 
try, enjoy to the utmost his excruciating mimicry. 

31 



MODERN ATHENS 

Nor must I forget in this connection to pay tribute 
to the abilities of N. Pezodromos, Paraskevopoulou's 



M r 





The Theseion from the Gardens. 

leading man, and to the sturdy merit of Kyrios Les- 
katsas, who draws good houses to Hamlet and Iago, 
produced in excellent translation. It may not be 
uninteresting to note that modern Greek is a very suit- 
able dress for Shakespearian thought, and, when rightly 
handled, meets all the emergencies of translation. It 
is probable that the modern Greeks have a better idea 
of our master poet than any other foreign nation. 

32 



MODERN ATHENS 

They quote him with surprising frequency, and they 
roll off from memory such pompous periods as 
" MeyaXoc, iravrohvvafioo koli (Teflao-Tol avdevrai" (Most 
potent, grave, and reverend seigniors), in a manner 
which leaves no doubt that they have got a glimpse 
of the real " Bard of Avon." 

But the chief attractions at the summer theatres are 
the genuinely Greek plays, and four or five of these 
seem to have taken a permanent hold upon public 
favor. The Athenians never tire of going to see 
" Maroula's Luck," " The Victory of Leonidas," 
" Captain Yakomes," " The Shepherdess's Lover," 
" A Little of Everything." 

Several of these comedies possess considerable liter- 
ary merit, and are worthy of being translated into 
English. " Maroula's Luck," the most famous of 
them all, is the work of Demetrius Koromelas. The 
characters are all servants in a great house, and Ma- 
roula, the laundress, is the heroine. She is in love 
with the dashing coachman and does not reciprocate 
the affections of the more worthy, but less showy, 
cook. Maroula's father, a quaint old farmer, appears 
on the scene bringing to Athens one of those antique 
gems which are sometimes picked up in the Greek 
vineyards. The coachman, thinking the stone of 
value, becomes attentive to Maroula, but jilts her when 
an unscrupulous lapidary pronounces it worthless. 
Finally it is discovered that the gem is worth a small 
fortune, and the coachman renews his suit, but is 

33 



MODERN ATHENS 

rejected by the pretty laundress, whose heart has at 
last yielded to the cook's patient devotion. The dia- 
logue is bright and natural, and many musical lyrics 
are scattered through it. 

The " Shepherdess's Lover " is an idyllic drama of 
considerable beauty. A wealthy shepherd has re- 
mained single because of an early disappointment in 
love. After many years he meets the object of his 
youthful affections and does not recognize her. She 
persuades her daughter to become his fiancee and he 
consents, because the girl reminds him of the mother 
as he remembers her. But he confesses one day that 
his heart is still true to its early idol. He recognizes 
the mother at last from her voice, singing a song of 
their childhood, and all comes right. The rich suitor 
marries the mother and helps the daughter to wed the 
young shepherd, for whom she had in reality been pin- 
ing. The scene is laid in a mountain village and the 
details are essentially Greek, such as the dance of the 
shepherds, the roasting of the lambs, the preparation 
of the marriage -wreaths. The daughter, moreover, 
accepts the husband selected by her mother with a 
docility which would not be convincing to an Ameri- 
can audience. 

Admission to the theatres ranges from fifty lepta to 
two drachmas (seven and a half to thirty cents). The 
principal playhouses are the National Theatre, a fine 
building recently completed, in which only original 
Greek works will be produced ; the Theatre Syngros, 

34 



MODERN ATHENS 

the Polytheama, the Omonia, the Tsocha and the 
Athenaion. The first three named are " winter thea- 
tres," and the new National at least is a building of 
which the city may well be proud. It is under the 
patronage of the government, and it is said that the 
King contributed liberally toward its erection. 

But not everybody in Athens is able to pay even so 
small a sum as fifty lepta for entertainment, and there 
are numerous small theatres where the admission is 
cheaper. There are also the travelling companies, 
usually consisting of singing or dancing families, who 
perform from cheap booths, frequently erected by 
themselves, and who pass the hat or tambourine be- 
tween the acts. 

The pantomime is in high favor with Hoi polloi, a 
successful piece sometimes running for several con- 
secutive weeks. Thus the humorous and complicated 
adventures of <c The Two Sergeants " never fail to 
draw a paying house, and, since the war with Turkey, 
"The Battle of Velestino " has been in steady demand. 
This is a very noisy, patriotic spectacle, whose chief 
character is an actor made up to represent General 
Smolenski, the hero of the one battle in which the 
Greeks really scored. During the performance mimic 
shells burst upon the stage with a tremendous uproar, 
and the harmless pieces, flying among the audience, 
cause the wildest excitement. This pantomime, like 
all others, is acted to monotonous, drawling music. 
As originally produced, the Greek flag was unfurled 

35 



MODERN ATHENS 

in the finale and the national hymn was played, where- 
upon the entire audience rose and saluted ; but this 
last feature was discontinued through official edict as 
an undignified use of the hymn and the flag. 

This brief account of the Athenian stage would be 
quite incomplete without mention of the marionettes 
and the shadow-plays. In the case of the last named, 
moving silhouettes, thrown upon a screen, take the 
place of actors, and the lines are spoken by a hidden 
ventriloquist. 

Our old friends Punch and Judy need no description. 
They appear in Athens under the aliases of Phasole 
and Perikles — both words accented on the ultimate. 
Suffice to say that the Evil One is held in wholesome 
respect in Athens and the lese majeste of bringing 
him before the footlights is never attempted. His 
lines are spoken by a Turk — devil enough for any 
Greek audience. 

So at the regular theatre of marionettes, which is en- 
closed, and dignified by an admission fee (usually one 
cent), the villain is always a Turk. Comedy figures 
but little in the repertoire of the marionettes. They 
dance, topple, and jerk about in the stormy passions of 
princes, warriors, and great ladies, and squeak or 
growl interminable speeches in stilted Greek. And 
what an appreciative audience that is ! When the 
Christian maiden is carried off by the naughty Turk, 
all the servant-girls present — Aspasia, Paraskeve, 
Maria, Anthoula — groan and sob, and the bootblacks 

3^ 



MODERN ATHENS 

and market-boys hurl curses at the Turk with open 
palms. When the villain at last meets his just deserts 




The Resort of the Lowly — Marionettes. 



— and you may be sure that he is tremendously lam- 
basted at the end — the joy of the audience is tumultu- 



ous. 



The walls of Athens are liberally papered with the- 
atrical announcements, and the foreigner who can read 
the language at all is agreeably surprised to see the 
names of plays that have long been stand-byes on the 
English stage, transliterated in giant characters side by 

37 



MODERN ATHENS 

side with those of our latest successes — " The Two 
Orphans" hobnobbing with "Charley's Aunt" or 
" Mr. Wilkinson's Widows." 

If I were asked to name the most typical amuse- 
ments of the modern Athenian, I should say that it is 
connected with that love of nature which is, after all, 
his birthmark. In the outskirts of the city are nume- 
rous gardens, where the people gather and sit till late 
at night, eating and drinking, singing and talking. 
Fetes of various outlying churches and monasteries 
occur also with bewildering frequency and give rise to 
many an all-night celebration, when lambs are roasted 
whole and the modern Pyrrhic is danced by stout pali- 
karia (strong young men, braves). 

Nor is that sweet goddess Flora forgotten in these 
Christian times. On the afternoon before May ist 
the city's population scatters into the fields to gather 
wild flowers, which they make into wreaths. Return- 
ing home before sunrise, they hang a garland over each 
door, and there it remains, if no accident occurs, until 
May comes round again. Those who have not gone 
into the country to make their own wreaths buy them 
of the boys who carry them about the town threaded 
upon poles. 



38 



Ill 



THE Athenian who keeps house anywhere ex- 
cept on the widest and most fashionable streets 
is obliged to rise very early in summer, willy 
nilly. The fruit and vegetable pedlers are abroad 
while the morning star is still in the heavens, and they 
wake every sleeping thing save those who are waiting 
the trump of doom. Down the narrow streets they go 
in endless procession, yelling with brazen lungs a cho- 
rus of barbarous words, Greek, Turkish, Italian. In 
no other city of the world are the street-cries so varied, 
so harrowing, so vocally picturesque, so interesting. 
Some of them have flitted about the town from classic 
days, as deathless and as Greek as the owls of the 
Parthenon. Boys still sell little bundles of fat pine, in 
great demand as kindling wood, crying " Dhadhe ! " 
(AaBi ! ) * in at the open doors and windows. 

The earliest of all the street-men is the vender of 
"salepi," which he cries with a sharp hammer-tap of the 
voice on the short " e." He struggles along through 
the half-light, carrying a huge samovar of brass, 
studded with hooks on which a dozen or more metal 
cups jingle and rattle. Salepi is a hot herb drink, of a 

* " Aadiov, " Aristophanes, "Equites," 921. 

39 



MODERN ATHENS 

mild, agreeable flavor, and is often taken in place of 
coffee. The salepi-seller comes just before dawn and 
steals away at sunrise, and is one of those distinctive 
features of a foreign city which the ordinary traveller 
never sees. 

Nor do the men who sell milk and its various prod- 
ucts lie in bed till the sun rises. There are a couple 
of European dairies in Athens, whose proprietors keep 
cows ; but they do business mostly with the foreigners 
and with those Greeks who ape foreign manners. 
Your genuine Athenian believes the goat to be the 
proper milk-producing animal, and he regards the cow 
in this connection about as we Americans do the mare. 
The milkman takes his animals with him, jangling their 
bells and sneezing. " Gala ! " he shouts, a quick, 
startling cry, with a " g " whose guttural quality is 
unattainable by adult learners and usually unperceived 
by them. When a customer comes to the door he 
strips the desired quantity into the proffered receptacle 
before her vigilant eyes, selecting one of the goats, and 
paying no attention to the others, who understand the 
business as well as he does. Patiently they stand 
about, chewing the cud or resting on contiguous door- 
steps. When their master moves on, they arise and 
follow, more faithful than dogs. The obvious and 
well-nigh overpowering temptation to which the milk- 
man is subjected, affects him in Greece as in America. 
In Greece it is taken for granted that he cannot resist, 
and he is therefore obliged to take his animals with 

40 



MODERN ATHENS 

him. But even thus he is not above suspicion, for 
they tell of a rubber water-bag, carried inside the coat 
and provided with a tube reaching to the palm of the 
hand. Each time the milkman closes his hand over 
the udder he presses the bag between his arm and his 
body. 

Gala is good Greek, and so is its genitive galaktos, 
but we cannot say as much for " giaourti," another of 
the most familiar street-cries of Athens — a barbaric 
sound resembling a howl, suddenly interrupted by a 
blow in the pit of the stomach. " Yo'wr-te," they 
pronounce it, sharp as the bark of a dog. The thing 
itself is curdled goat's milk in bowls that are carried in 
a tin box, cut up into pigeon-holes. Curiously enough 
giaourti, when eaten with powdered sugar, is good. 

" Voutyro ! Voutyro ! " That's the man selling 
white, unsalted butter from a stone crock, for the 
morning rolls. If you learn to like it once, salted 
butter tastes musty ever after. 

These three varieties of merchant, who depend upon 
the goat for a livelihood, are for the most part stalwart 
shepherds in tight-fitting leggings and blouses with 
skirts reaching half way to the knees. They often 
wear tsarouchia, and colored handkerchiefs tied about 
their heads, knotted at the back. Their barbaric, ex- 
plosive shouts — " Gala ! " " Yowrte !" " Voutyro ! " — 
seem especially designed to awaken the sleeping city. 
They are followed by a melancholy cry, long drawn 
out: " Koulouria ! " (koo-loo-rei-ah). The koulou- 

42 



MODERN ATHENS 



ria man is a musical, mournful fellow, and if you listen, 

his voice will grow fainter and fainter in the distance, 

with such perfect diminuendo 

that you fancy you hear it 

even when that is no longer 

possible. The koulouri is a 

species of hot roll, usually 

sold from a flat board which 

the vender carries on top of 

his head. 

While on the subject of 
mournful cries, I must not 
forget the man who sells 
" pantoufeles," dwelling for a 
long time on the " ou." The 
French scholar will recognize 
the word, pantoufles (slippers). 
They are carried through the 
streets slung two and two on a 

long stick, and are sold largely to servant girls who 
make their employers pay for them. Pantoufles, 
about one pair a month, are a perquisite of service in 
Athens, according to unwritten law. 

Then there are insinuating cries, uttered in an in- 
quiring tone, that depend for their penetrating quality 
on a long " e," that favorite sound in modern Greek. 
Such are (phonetically spelled) seeka, stapheelia, rad- 
heekia, peenes (figs, grapes, wild greens, pinnas). 

The wild greens are sold from bags by very old, 

43 




MODERN ATHENS 

bent, and witch-like women, who become so associated 
with that one senile plaint, uttered in a cracked voice, 
that one no longer regards them as thinking and talk- 
ing women. They have ceased to be old gossips, 
they are birds of some ancient mythologic sort and 
that is their cry — " Radheekia ! Radheekia ! " 

The pinnas are enormous clams with a narrowish, 
flat shell. They are as wide as a man's hand, or wider, 
and a foot or more in length. They are carried in a 
flat basket, with the hinge ends in the centre, like the 
spokes of a wheel. Save for about a teacup of clam at 
the hinge end, the shells are entirely empty. If you 
buy a half dozen the merchant chips a little hole in 
the shell of one and then empties the contents of the 
other five into the receptacle thus made. 

The garlic vender carries his fragrant wares in long 
ropes, thrown over his shoulders. The Greek word 
for garlic is o-tcopBos — a good old word and a good old 
plant, highly relished in Greece and believed to pos- 
sess many mysterious, health-giving properties. It is 
also a sovereign prophylactic against the evil eye. The 
baby or the pet goat is quite safe against this evil, who 
wears a kernel of garlic in a little bag tied around the 
neck. Garlic is eaten raw by the peasantry and labor- 
ing classes with their bread, and for this reason the 
Europeanized Athenians — the society people — pretend 
to abhor it. But this is only an affectation. They period- 
ically retire to the country and have garlic debauches, 
and at such times the young ladies are not to be seen. 

44 




At the "Asty 1 ' Restaurant — a Typical Outdoor Restaurant Scene 
in Athens at Night. 



MODERN ATHENS 

No genuine Athenian can live three months without 
garlic. And why should he ? 'Tis a classic plant, most 
respectable in its antiquity, and not to be disowned by 
people whose chief pride is their ancient lineage. 

One of the most typical sounds in any eastern city 
— and Athens is at least semi-Oriental — is the creak ! 
creak ! of the huge panniers which the patient little don- 
keys carry, one on each side. All that is visible of the 
approaching animal is the head, twisted around side- 
ways and tied down to keep him from taking toll. The 
two great baskets, side by side and laden with fruit or 
vegetables, seem to move of their own accord, so dispro- 
portionate are they to the size of the blue-gray, moth- 
eaten little beast beneath them. The men who drive 
these donkeys about the streets furnish good material 
for those who argue that modern Greek is merely a 
hodge-podge of various languages. Listen to the 
sing-song inventory of goods on sale : 

Tomahtes, potathes, koloky-thah-kia, visehlia, pha- 
solia, angou-rah-kia ! 

The modern Greek enthusiast, on the other hand, 
can reply that we have here three words of Greek deri- 
vation, applied to articles botanically akin to those 
eaten to-day — kolokinthia, phasolia, angouria (vege- 
table marrow, beans, cucumbers). As for tomatoes 
and potatoes, it is perfectly legitimate to apply new 
names to them, as they are new things. By this sen- 
sible process such philological monstrosities are avoided 
as pomme de terre and pome d'oro. 

46 



MODERN ATHENS 

The turkey merchant is the most wonderful of street 
venders. He arrives with two or three hundred birds, 
which he drives about town for a week or two, selling 
them one by one. He is armed with a long pole, 
with which he touches up lazy or quarrelsome birds. 
They gobble continuously, and he shouts above the 
din : " Gallous, Gallopoula, Gallopoiiles " (Turkey 
cocks, little turkeys, little hen turkeys) ! When one 
drove meets another face to face, or at right angles, 
they pass through without confusion, and no bird 
changes masters. 

These are only a few of the street-cries of Athens 
which, mingled with the barking of dogs, the braying 
of donkeys, and the shouts of children, relieve the 
loneliness of the poorer quarters during the busy hours 
of the day. I cannot mention them all, but- there is 
one other which I must not forget, " Meli ! Meli " 
(Honey, honey) ! The vender is a shepherd from the 
slopes of Mount Hymettus, from the pages of the old 
poets. He carries a branch in his hand, to which is 
attached, by its base, a great triangle of honey made 
from flowers of the wild thyme. He does not get far 
nor shout many times. 

But do not despair of obtaining all the Hymettus 
honey you want, even if you do not happen to see this 
shepherd. The thing is easy enough for the house- 
keeper who knows how to go about it. Tawny swarms 
of bees drift down the slopes of Hymettus in the early 
morning, and home again at night, and all day long 

47 



MODERN ATHENS 

they buzz among the purple blossoms of the wild 
thyme. Rustics lure them into antique conical hives, 
and betray their confidence by robbing them, selling 
the product without difficulty to Athenian families. 
Who tastes the genuine Hymettus honey will find no 
cause of disillusionment, Professor Mahaffy to the 
contrary notwithstanding (" Rambles in Greece," page 
156). The genial professor seems to have formed his 
unfavorable impression from the honey furnished him 
at some hotel table, which may not have been a fair 
sample. 

Housekeeping in Athens is easy and agreeable, 
if one has enough of the language to get along with 
native servants — the French - speaking variety that 
has been spoiled at the legations is generally to be 
avoided. By the way, you can commence with a vo- 
cabulary of half a dozen words, and how fast one does 
pick up a language from servants ! Unfurnished 
houses cost all the way from sixty to four hundred 
drachmas per month — about $9 to $60 — according to 
location. A passable house on a good street can be 
got for one hundred drachmas. They are built with 
large rooms and high ceilings. Servants are cheap and 
good, and one keeps more of them in Greece than in 
America. A gentleman with a small income, say 
$2,000 a year, maintains quite an establishment there. 
A cook suitable for a legation and competent to plan 
and prepare a respectable course dinner, receives one 
hundred drachmas per month. With moderately good 

48 




o 



MODERN ATHENS 

luck one can obtain a cook that will answer all ordinary 
purposes for forty drachmas. Chambermaids ask from 



A corner -skoe-srv^p--! 




twenty-five to forty drachmas, and the indispensable 
iracSl, or boy, about ten or fifteen. The boy is to go 
to market when you wish, and to run errands, as no 
self-respecting Greek woman, servant, or lady, likes to 
be seen in the street unattended. Charcoal for cook- 
ing purposes costs about six drachmas the bag, and is 
weighed out to you on old-fashioned steelyards, one 
hook of which is made to clutch a pole passed from 

50 



MODERN ATHENS 

shoulder to shoulder of the merchant and his assistant. 
You must watch the charcoal dealer very closely to see 
that there is not a string or ravelling hanging from the 
bottom of the bag on which he may put his foot while 
the weighing is being done. If one of your own ser- 
vants suddenly becomes excited and begins to talk very 
fast, using the words " klephtes," " maskeras," and the 
Greek word for " father " frequently, you may safely 
surmise that cheating has been going on and that your 
faithful retainer has been consigning the soul of the 
merchant's father to an orthodox place of torment. 

You will need a few olive knots, too, for your fire- 
places. A hundred drachmas' worth will be sufficient 
for quite a large house. 

The most delightful feature of housekeeping in 
Athens is that servants pay you a hundred little atten- 
tions that are not " nominated in the bond." They 
unbutton your shoes at night and bring your slippers, 
they black your shoes, and they have your bed open 
for you in the evening, and your night-robe or paja- 
mas invitingly spread out, ready for occupancy. At 
any moment you are apt to find some thoughtful little 
thing done for your comfort. If you treat them 
kindly they become attached to you and their grief is 
quite painful when you are finally obliged to leave the 
country. 



5i 



IV 

THE street pedler and his donkey are not seen 
in their greatest glory on the principal thor- 
oughfares, the streets known as Hermes, Kep- 
hissia, University, Academy, Stadion. These all de- 
bouch into Constitution Square, like rivers into a lake. 
Hermes Street is where the ladies do their shopping; 
Kephissia is lined with modern residences, and is a 
fashionable drive ; University and Academy streets are 
named after the beautiful buildings which adorn them, 
and the Hodos Stadiou connects the Square of the 
Constitution with Concord Square, between which plies 
a line of noisy vis-a-vis, or four-seated wagons, drawn 
by equine skeletons. These latter are driven furiously 
to and fro with much hissing and cracking of long 
whip-lashes and more bilingual profanity. The poor 
animals are kept in motion continually, whether busi- 
ness be dull or brisk, for, like bicycles, they have a 
tendency to fall down when quiescent. There were 
never any horses in the world so lean as they, except 
those of the old Fifth Avenue stage line in New York. 
One has but to strike off at right angles from any 
of the principal arteries at almost any point to get into 
a genuine " native quarter," to get among the homes 

52 




I , 




1 



MODERN ATHENS 

of Greeks who dwell in Athens winter and summer, 
who earn their living in the various industries of the 
city, and whose men folks take their recreation at the 
little cafes which are as thick as saloons in an American 
city. There is nothing in Athens which corresponds 
exactly to our tenements. Labor and materials are 
cheap, and a family of very moderate means can own 
its own house, invariably a two-story building of stone 
and stucco, surrounded by an adobe wall. Within the 
court thus formed there is sure to be a tree or two, and 
a few flowers. The northern slopes of the Acrop- 
olis, the regions about the so-called Theseion, the 
Areopagus and the Temple of the Olympian Zeus, the 
lower approach to Lycabettus, and the road to Phale- 
ron are crowded thick with these dwellings. 

The old city extended, as indicated by the traces of 
the ancient wall, on the south to a little way beyond 
the theatre of Dionysus ; on the east, to the Arch of 
Hadrian, including, in Roman times, the Zappeion dis- 
trict ; and on the north, about to Stadion Street and the 
Dipylon, taking in Pnyx Hill. It thus appears that 
the modern town has greatly outgrown, in respect of 
area, its glorious forerunner, though we must take into 
account that there were many suburbs in old times out- 
side the walls. 

The place of the tenement is taken in the modern 
capital of Greece by the avle, or court, and the houses 
built around three sides of it. This court is usually 
shaded by a large tree or two, and in its floor of 

54 



MODERN ATHENS 

beaten earth is scooped out a little basin, kept full of 
water from the bryse, or common hydrant. Here the 
ducks of the various families make friends and disport 
together, and the numerous dogs and chickens satisfy 




Street Leading Down from the Acropolis. 



their thirst. Each family occupies on an average two 
rooms, from which, it is needless to say, children of all 
ages overflow until the court resembles the playground 
of a public school. 

55 



MODERN ATHENS 

The cafe, like the saloon in Anglo-Saxon and Celtic 
cities, is the club of the poor. It consists of a hospit- 
able room for winter and a shaded bit of sidewalk or 
a little court for summer. Here the men of the 
neighborhood gather to play dominoes, to talk politics 
or business or to arrange marriages. Black coffee, at 
from five to twenty lepta the cup (one to four cents), is 
the universal beverage, and the cigarette and the nar- 
ghile are the only modes of smoking. The narghile is 
most affected by the old-time Athenians, those who 
cling to the fast-disappearing fustanella or bracha, or 
who still wear it in their hearts. The latter is the 
island costume, breeches of strong homespun whose 
voluminous seat hangs like a bag between the knees 
and reaches nearly to the ground. To be the genuine 
thing, it should be of cloth whose thread was twisted 
by patient ringers from a tuft of snowy wool nesting in 
the crotch of an old-fashioned distaff. (When we use 
the word " old-fashioned " in this connection, we are 
thinking of fashions coeval with the Pyramids and 
Mycenae.) Throughout the country regions and islands 
of Greece all the cloth that is used in the household 
is made by hand from the wool ; and upon the back 
streets of Athens estimable peasant women may be 
seen standing in the doorways twirling spinning-whorls 
similar to those used by the handmaidens of Helen of 
Troy. 

Hand-looms are still in use in the Greek capital, as 
they are in the villages, and the silk-spinner, with 

56 



MODERN ATHENS 

his portable wheel, is a common sight in shaded alleys 
— a reminder of the times when the great ladies of 
Venice arrayed themselves sumptuously in Greek silk 




i> 



Smoking a Narghile. 



and when it was made into trousers for the indolent 
beauties of a thousand Turkish harems. 

After the cafe, the fourno (oven) is the institution 

57 



MODERN ATHENS 

which plays the largest part in the lives of an Atheni- 
an neighborhood. Very little baking is done in Greek 
kitchens, a wise arrangement due to the warm climate. 




The stove is merely a cube of masonry, breast high, 
with holes on the upper surface in which charcoal is 
burned for broiling steaks and boiling pots. A flue, 
opening on the face of the cube, furnishes a draught, and 

58 



MODERN ATHENS 

the children of the household are called into frequent 
requisition to fan this flue with a turkey's wing when 
the pot refuses to boil. To the fourno are carried al! 
roasts, and children or servants are continually running 
to and fro with copper pans containing a leg of lamb 




An Athens Kitchen. 



garnished with potatoes, a grinning goat's head repos- 
ing in a bed of tomatoes, tomatoes themselves, stuffed 
with minced goat's meat, or a large fish twisted into a 
semicircle and seasoned with onions and parsley. The 
various sweetmeats already mentioned are also baked at 
the fourno, which consists of a great cave wherein a 

59 



MODERN ATHENS 



fire is built. When the cave is sufficiently hot the fire 
is pushed back and the bread and waiting dishes are 
put in. No other impression of childhood lingers so 
vividly in the mind of the expatriated Greek as that of 
the neighborhood oven. When the doors are thrown 
open at night, disclosing that great cavern of fire, a 
dozen silent, dark-eyed children are sure to be looking 
in through the low stone archway of the shop, and the 
kindly baker, with his long-handled rake pulling out 
the fragrant loaves or turning the stone or copper 
platters, makes a picture very like that which they 
have been taught concerning the Evil One. The 
loaves, of coarse, wholesome bread, are piled on a plat- 
form by the wide win- 
dow and, when you 
choose one, the baker 
jumps up among them 
with his bare feet and 
throws it to you. 

The fragrance which 
'wafts from his place is 
due to the wild thyme 
which he burns in his 
oven, brought to him 
on donkeys from the 
slopes of Hymettus 
and the other contigu- 
ous hills. The bread is made of meslin, in round 
loaves, each weighing an oke (two pounds and five- 

60 




For the Baker's Oven. 



MODERN ATHENS 



eighths) and selling for sixty lepta (about eight cents). 
The price is fixed by law, and the least disposition on 
the part of the 
bakers to raise 
prices or to give 
under- weight 
arouses an instant 
storm of popular 
indignation — as 
happened when a 
youthful Chicago 
operator attempt- 
ed not long ago 
" to corner " the 
wheat market of 
the world. 

Among the 
rank and file of 
Greeks, about the 
only ones who 
ever taste white 
bread are the priests and their families, who eat the 
fine loaves brought to the churches for communion 
purposes. This one fact is typical of the social stand- 
ing of the Papas or priest, who is a man of immense 
influence and honor among the Greeks who have not 
been corrupted by the fashionable scepticism of the 
age. His hand is kissed by his parishioners, his opin- 
ion on all matters is received with the greatest defer- 

61 





w 




: i 


1 


MM** 


i 


* •'■ 








\ 


1 






s 

i 






1 



A Greek Papas. 



MODERN ATHENS 

ence, he is the central figure in the most vital cere- 
monies of the community — birth, marriage, death. 

The two classes 
that add most to 
the picturesque 
effect of the 
streets and cafes 
are the priests 
and officers. 
That the service 
of Mars and that 
of the Prince of 
Peace are con- 
sidered equally 
: desirable in 
Greece is evi- 
dent from the 
fact that there 
are over eight 
thousand priests 
to a population 
of two million, 
and that there is 
one o fficer to 
every twelve 
men in the army. 
The concentra- 
tion of all classes 

"In his stately flowing robe." Ill Such a City as 

62 




MODERN ATHENS 

Athens causes one to meet at every turn a group of 
officers or a priest in his stately flowing robe and tall, 
thatched hat. The priests wear their hair and beards 
long, that they may be as distinct as possible from the 
Western clergy, and they perhaps marry for the same 
reason — though a bishop must be a single man. On 
official occasions they let down their long back hair, 
of which they are often justly proud. Papas Ioannes 
Pappageorgios, now located at the village of Poros, has 
reddish-brown hair which flows in a magnificent waving 
mane nearly to his hips. He is a sort of male Lady 
Godiva. All the ceremonials of the Greek Church are 
pompous and impressive to the highest degree attain- 
able, and the wardrobe of the priest is adequate to his 
entire repertoire. 

Marriage and death furnish the most picturesque 
processions. The dot system prevails, and unions are 
usually arranged on business principles. The bride's 
proeka, or dowry, consists of furniture and other use- 
ful articles as well as of money, and these are carried 
to the residence selected for the young couple by a 
frolic throng of friends, headed by music — usually a 
couple of violins and a guitar. When the parties are 
sufficiently wealthy, carriages are hired and piled full of 
beds and bedding, chairs, wardrobes, bureaus, cooking 
utensils, etc. A special display is made of the silk 
pillows which the bride has embroidered with her own 
fair hands. A separate carriage is devoted to these, 
and they are arranged conspicuously on the seats. 

^3 



yT 





A Wedding Among the People. 



MODERN ATHENS 

The possibility of getting an unexpected view of the 
corpse, which is carried exposed in a shallow coffin, 
renders a Greek funeral procession a spectacle which 
nervous foreigners would do well to avoid. Old men 
and women arrayed in sombre black, young girls and 
children in white and half buried in flowers — all the 
dead are thus borne for the last time through the 
streets of the city which has been their home. You 
are perhaps stopping at one of the hotels, and hear the 
solemn music of the dead march. You run to the 
window and look down and there, turned toward you 
in the awful calm of death, is a face of marble white- 
ness and a rigid form, the poor helpless hands crossed 
upon the breast. In former times high dignitaries of 
the Church were borne to the grave seated in a chair 
placed upon an elevated platform. But this display 
was too spectacular even for the Athenians, and it was 
finally abandoned. The coffin-lid, upholstered with 
richly embroidered silk and hung with a huge wreath, 
is carried at the head of the processions, which derive 
additional pomp from the numerous banners and sym- 
bols of the Church held high in air. Priests, relatives, 
and mourners follow on foot, and the men sitting at 
the cafes or in the open doors rise, remove their hats 
and cross themselves as the corpse passes. In the case 
of an officer in the army, his charger, caparisoned in 
black, is led with him on this last expedition of all. 

It may interest the reader to know that Greek 
coffins are merely shallow crates and that the lid does 

65 



MODERN ATHENS 

not close down, but rests upon the body. This arrange- 
ment allows the latter to come in direct contact with 
the earth and facilitates dissolution. This process 
is supposed in the popular mind to indicate, by its 
rapidity or slowness, the state attained by the soul 
of the departed in the other world. Graves are usually 
rented in the Athens cemeteries for a space of years. 
At the expiration of the term the remains are dug up, 
and the bones are cleaned and put into a bag, which is 
labelled with the name and dates of birth and death. 
If the bones are found to be completely denuded of 
flesh, the soul is thought to be in paradise, and super- 
stition has it that in the case of saints they have a fra- 
grant smell. There is a pious wish, frequently heard, 
" May your bones smell like myrrh ! " A dead per- 
son is always referred to, by a pious euphemism, as 
"'0 MaicaptTr]s y " The Blessed One, which is certainly 
more cheerful than our unchristian " late." 

The procession of Good Friday should be men- 
tioned while we are on the subject, for it is in reality a 
public, official representation of the funeral of Christ. 
Processions set out from the various churches by night, 
carrying all the sacred banners and emblems. They 
are led by a number of priests escorting an embroidered 
velvet figure of the Christ and followed by an inter- 
minable line of mourners, bearing lighted candles. 
The principal procession starts from the Metropolitan 
church, and is furnished with a squad of soldiers who 
march with reversed arms and with a military band 

67 



MODERN ATHENS 

that plays a dirge. Sometimes two or three long lines 
of lighted candles can be seen at the same time, wind- 
ing down toward Constitution Square from different 
parts of the city. This ceremony brings the personal- 
ity of Christ home with great vividness to the common 
people, occurring as it does at a time when long fasting 
has rendered them peculiarly susceptible to impressions 
of an emotional or imaginative nature. The Greeks 
are honest and grim fasters. There are about one hun- 
dred and fifty-three fast days out of the three hun- 
dred and sixty-five, when life is sustained by means 
of bread and green olives, red caviare, garlic, sea 
urchins (echini), ink fish, lobsters, and such other 
denizens of the sea as are popularly thought to be 
" without blood." 

Greek ritual worship reaches its high tide on the 
eve before Easter, at which time services are conducted 
in the Metropolitan church by the Metropolitan him- 
self. Quite early in the evening the worshippers begin 
to arrive at the sacred edifice, which is soon filled to 
stifling, and a great throng gathers in the square with- 
out, where a platform has been erected, that is filled 
early in the evening by Greek lay dignitaries and 
official foreigners. The service is long and impressive, 
but through it all the vast audience is awaiting the 
moment when the venerable priest shall light his can- 
dle, symbolical of the light which shall break upon 
the eyes of the dead in Christ when they arise from 
the tomb. As the hour of midnight approaches, the 

68 



MODERN ATHENS 

eagerness of the throng in the square becomes more 
and more intense. At last a sigh of relief is heard. 
Someone clinging to a pillar or sitting upon the steps 
of the platform has seen within the church. They are 
lighting their candles there, they are coming out. 
Sporadic tips of flame flicker into being at far distances 
apart, they bloom in solid patches like little wind- 
blown stars scampering in troops into the sky, the 
streets become rivers of twinkling candles, they wink 
and flare in a hundred windows. The venerable 
Metropolitan, superb in flowing robes and vestments 
embroidered in gold, emerges from the church with 
his suite and mounts to the platform. A hush falls 
upon that devout throng and the litany continues. At 
last the tremendous announcement is made, in a voice 
of solemn conviction, " Christos Aneste " (Christ is 
risen), and every candle in the square, in all the tribu- 
tary streets and in all the windows, is raised and low- 
ered three times, once for the Father, once for the 
Son, and once for the Holy Spirit. The Easter ser- 
vice is ended, the long fast is over. Great joy seizes 
upon all hearts and a feeling of brotherhood and love 
overflows. Women sob in the excess of emotion and 
enemies kiss each other with the kiss of peace, mur- 
muring, " Christ is risen, He is risen indeed ! " 

Then the congregation breaks up and goes home, 
still carrying the lighted candles that soon scatter all 
over the city, like little lines and squads of moving 
stars. The first thing the Greek does when he reaches 

69 



MODERN ATHENS 

home is to light, from his candle, the lamp which burns 
before the eikon, then he breaks the long fast with a 
dish of soup, made from the entrails and feet of the 
Easter lamb, seasoned with egg and lemon. But a 
small portion is taken, for it is necessary to prepare the 
stomach for the feasting of the morrow. It is a pretty 
poor Greek who cannot afford at least a piece of lamb 
on Easter Sunday, although he may not eat meat any 
other day of the year. 

It will be seen that the Church does much toward 
the entertainment of the people. These theatrical 
ceremonials will be very interesting and suggestive to 
the student who remembers that the drama has always 
had its origin in religion ; that it sprung in Greece 
from the worship of Dionysus, and in England from 
the mystery plays. To the ordinary observer, theat- 
rical pageants seem very much at home in a kingdom so 
small that one can well imagine he is observing it from 
a box or a seat in the parquet — an effect that is height- 
ened by a background of ruins, mediaeval churches, 
crooked streets, and perhaps a chorus of Albanians in 
ballet-dancing costume — the King's guard — in front of 
the palace. And ever and anon there is a fanfare an- 
nouncing that some member of the royal family has 
started on a drive, or is just returning from one. 



70 



V 



FROM Athens to Phaleron is the favorite carriage 
promenade, and when His or Her Majesty sets 
forth, all the fashion of the city is not far be- 
hind. Arrived at the beach the King and Queen or 
the King and his daughter walk up and down in the 
most democratic manner possible, usually followed by 
a fat dachshund. 

There are in reality two Phalerons, Old and New. 
The former is simply an objective point for drives and 
is most frequented in winter, and then only by the 
fashionable element. During the months of February 
and March every pleasant afternoon sees a long caval- 
cade of vehicles of every sort on the road to Old Pha- 
leron ; landaus, drags, barouches, tandems, bicycles. 
Nor are equestrians wanting to add a picturesque effect 
to the scene. Many of the young women of Athens 
are dashing horse riders, and these are often out on 
the road to Old Phaleron accompanied most frequent- 
ly by debonair officers of the cavalry. The Princess 
Maria is an accomplished horse woman, and was often 
seen in the saddle, escorted by her father, before her 
marriage. One cannot do much at Old Phaleron in 
the way of amusement, save to stroll along the beach 

7i 



MODERN ATHENS 

and look at the beautiful sea. The place has two or 
three inns, mere sheds, where sea food can be obtained 
as well as wine and fruit, and where one may sit on a 
porch and watch the sun set behind Salamis. There 
are comparatively few days in the perfect Greek climate 




A March Day, 
Place de la Constitution. 



when driving is impracticable, but the loveliest weather 
begins in rain-washed, sun-kissed February, when the 
almond-trees are in bloom and the anemones peep 
shyly from the ground, here and there. It does not 
take the first comers long to tell their waiting fellows 

72 



MODERN ATHENS 

that fortune has cast their lot in Greece, beneath the 
wooing Greek sky, and soon they swarm out fearlessly 
all over the Attic plain, pale mauve, red, pink, and 
white. 

Poppies, blood red among the green wheat, follow 
the anemones, and in the full glory of spring there is a 
riot of wild flowers on either side of the road : poppies, 
big, yellow, " black-eyed Susans," white daisies, dainty 
stars of Bethlehem, and a hundred varieties of tiny 
blossoms that lay patches of color, bright as Persian 
rugs, upon the green grass and among the olive-trees. 

Sunset is the signal for starting home from Old 
Phaleron, and the long string of carriages and bicycles 
sets out toward Athens as soon as the purple twilight 
falls on the encircling hills ; but if it is March, we 
would do well to delay a little and see the carnival of 
stars. No other where in the world do the stars come 
so near to the earth as in Greece, and March is their 
festal month. They shine with passionate splendor 
in the lilac sky, as fierce and yet as tender-hearted as 
great drops of dew in the morning sun. You can see 
around behind them. 

As the season advances and the roads get more and 
more dusty, the popularity of Old Phaleron decreases. 
In midsummer, or as soon, in fact, as the sea is fit for 
bathing, the thoughts of the Athenians, rich and poor, 
turn longingly to the " new " resort. You may know 
when the summer is really in full sway, by seeing tem- 
porary bath-houses made of shawls, or even mere 

73 



MODERN ATHENS 

screens of clothing, all along the beach. Hoi polloi 
are taking their annual bath. If you have money and 
move in the court circle, you should arrive at New 
Phaleron about sunset, attired for the promenade. 
Strolling up and down in front of the principal hotel, 
you will meet nearly everybody worth knowing. Ta- 
bles are set in the open air, and there is good music 
yonder. The band-stand is on a platform over the sea, 
and the strains of the latest Italian airs and of operas 
half-forgotten in America, come to your ears, mingled 
with the soothing " fluff, fluff " of the waves. There are 
excellent bathing establishments here, and we can take 
a dip in the brine before dinner. After dark the elec- 
tric lights are turned on and a gay throng dines by the 
very skirts of the sea. There are usually a number of 
war-vessels in the harbor — English, Russian, French, 
Greek, or American — and they amuse themselves by 
whipping into momentary life with their searchlights 
the sleeping Parthenon or the distant hills. There is 
a theatre at New Phaleron, wherein a fair company 
produces Italian operas. 

Don't forget to go to New Phaleron on the open 
tram. That is the pleasantest route, and it is also the 
most fashionable, as it is patronized by the royal fam- 
ily, who take their places and pay their four cents fare 
in the most democratic manner imaginable. 

I have spoken of going to Phaleron on a bicycle. 
There are numerous other, longer, excursions by wheel 
that are possible from Athens ; for instance, to Marou- 

74 



MODERN ATHENS 

si, Kephissia, Tatoi, Eleusis, Marathon, Corinth. The 
three places first mentioned are all on the same route, 
and you can get an excellent dinner, with good wine, 
at any of them. Kephissia is another fashionable re- 
sort, with a big hotel. At Tatoi, the King's country 
place, there is a small inn, where refreshment may be 
had, and where one may take board for a week, but 
no longer. Tatoi, being well up in the mountains, is 
deliciously cool in the summer-time. The road there 
is excellent, as roads leading to a king's property 
are apt to be. By doing a little climbing, one can 
keep right on over the mountains to Oropos on the 
Euripus, opposite the ancient city of Eretria, excavated 
several years ago by the American school. The road 
to Marathon, twenty-five miles, is not good, but is pass- 
able for bicycles in good weather. To Corinth, sixty 
miles, about, is a most satisfactory and. interesting run 
for a practical devotee of the wheel. The route leads 
through Eleusis and the city of Megara, ancient mother 
of Constantinople — as it is called now — and for miles 
along a cliff that overlooks the vividly blue waters of the 
Saronic gulf. In Corinth is a little hotel of fragrant 
memory, kept by one Pelopides, justly famed for his 
savory pilaffs, for his modern bath-rooms, and for the 
cleanness and comfort of his beds. If one wishes, he 
can ship his wheel back to Athens from Corinth, and 
return by train. 

Dogs are the one great pest of the bicyclist in 
Greece. As soon as you get out of the city limits of 

76 



MODERN ATHENS 

Athens you must keep the horizon in your eye. If 
there is a shepherd and his flock a mile away, you are 
sure to see a small cloud of dust rapidly approaching 
you across the field. That is the dog and he will bite 
you if you stay on your wheel. If you descend and 
pick up a stone, you will have no trouble in driving 
him off. Greek shepherd dogs have a fear of stones 
that is out off all proportion to their general courage. 
If one has bitten you and your heart is full of revenge, 
satisfaction is easily encompassed. Put two or three 
stones in an outside coat pocket and wait until the 
dog is almost upon you. Then step from your wheel. 
He has up till this moment supposed you to be some 
new sort of centaur. His surprise, on seeing you thus 
come in two and resolve yourself into a machine and 
a man, will render him motionless, and you can lodge 
your rock at leisure. If you succeed in planting it 
squarely in his ribs, you will have performed a genuine 
service for the next bicyclist who may come along. 
This may seem cruel, but the dogs of Greece really 
need civilizing. 

Kephissia, a few miles up in the mountains, and 
Phaleron, are often referred to as the " two lungs " of 
Athens. There are many fine, villas at both places, 
and their contiguity to the capital renders it possible 
to get out of the heat at any time in less than an hour. 

Foreigners must obtain their ideas of Greek customs 
and character mostly from the public and out-of-door 
manifestations. There are but three or four Greek 

77 



MODERN ATHENS 

houses in all. Athens open to them, a form of ex- 
clusiveness which was inflicted upon the English dur- 
ing the occupancy of Corfu, and which occasioned much 
bitter criticism. My knowledge of the Greek charac- 
ter leads me to believe that they keep their doors shut 
from shyness rather than from motives of economy. 
The Greek cannot quite rid himself of so many hun- 
dreds of years of Turkish influence, and his house has 
borrowed seclusion from the harem. You may stay 
for weeks in a country village without ever seeing a 
pretty young girl. But do not deceive yourself : many 
a roguish pair of eyes has been " taking stock " of you 
through closed shutters, and if your bearing lacks in 
the least essential of dignity you have been the subject 
of uncomplimentary laughter ; for the Greek maiden 
hath a shrewd wit and is much given to ridicule. In 
Athens the married ladies of wealth, who have travelled 
abroad, go about with more freedom, but the girls are 
ferociously chaperoned. The window-cushion is found 
in all the houses, a long pillow upon which the ladies 
rest their elbows while they gaze down into the street. 
Hours are spent in this occupation, which is quite typ- 
ical of the peasant's ideal of a lady — a woman who has 
nothing to do. Indeed, there is a saying among the 
poor people, " She sits on her balcony and eats pump- 
kin seeds." But I would not convey the idea that the 
" New Woman " is entirely unknown in Athens. She 
has made her appearance there and, so far, is doing a 
world of good. Her example is putting her charming 

78 



MODERN ATHENS 

sisters more and more in touch with the Western world, 
where they belong. Mrs. Calirrhoe Parren is editor 
of a woman's paper, the Ephemeris ton Kyrion (The 
Ladies' Journal), which advocates increased education 
and independence on the part of women ; and Maria 
Kalopothakes, daughter of the missionary, is an ex- 
cellent surgeon, who has a hospital of her own and 
treats the poor free of charge. 

The principal shopping street of Athens is ap- 
propriately named " Hermes " after the ancient god of 
commerce and barter. Here are the shops frequented 
by the ladies, where they obtain about the same variety 
of goods, imported from Paris and London, that are 
found in American stores. Midway in Hermes Street 
is a quaint and picturesque Byzantine church, one of 
the oldest in the city, and from this, to right and to 
left, branch off two other streets, dear to the heart of 
the orthodox Greek. One of them is known to for- 
eigners as " The Street of the Candles " because here 
are the shops where candles are sold for baptisms, 
funerals, weddings, and church services. You may see 
them hanging by the wick in rows in the windows and 
in front of the shops, many of them of huge size 
and covered with ornamental designs. 

In this same neighborhood the dealers in baptismal 
outfits have their shops. In Greece, the godfather 
bears all the expenses of the baptism, including the 
fees of priests, nurses, etc. He must also buy the 
clothing in which the little one is first arrayed, as well 

79 



MODERN ATHENS 

as floria or other souvenirs for the guests. As the 
population of Greece is rapidly increasing, it will read- 
ily be seen that baptismal paraphernalia are in brisk 
demand. You can obtain an entire little suit for your 
godchild, from cunning cap to tiny gold cross, neatly 
put up in a box, for prices ranging from forty drachmas 
to one thousand. 

Eikons can be bought in this same street, as cheap 
or as expensive as you desire. Some are mere daubs 
upon bits of board — fatheaded Greek babies supposed 
to represent the infant Christ, held stiffly in the arms 
of round-featured virgins. In the case of the more 
expensive eikons, the figures are covered with a sheet 
of polished silver or even of gold, with openings that 
allow the faces and hands to be seen. The favorite 
saints, too, are in great demand : Spiridon, Nikolas, 
Elias, George, Elene, Paraskeve, for these have special 
care over the people who are named after them, and 
also, like the gods of old, they are patrons of various 
industries, or are sympathetic in particular emer- 
gencies. The dealers in eikons also sell offerings for 
the churches, legs and arms of silver or gold, internal 
organs, images of babies, etc. If your baby is sick, 
or your leg, or your liver, you ask the Virgin or St. 
Nikolas or some other saint for help, promising, in 
case your prayer is answered, to hang up in some 
church an image of the object cured or saved. If 
your case be desperate, you may promise an image 
every year for a long term of years ; but be sure not to 

80 



MODERN ATHENS 

make any vows that you cannot fulfil, for if you fail, 
the offended saint is likely to take a terrible revenge. 
The dav/jLCLTovpyosj or miracle-working virgin of Tenos, 
is the one most frequently called upon, and the gold 
and silver images annually left in the church there 
form a source of immense revenue. The place often 
looks like a toy dissecting-room. Our Athenian 
cook, Anna, once saved her boy's life by calling upon 
this virgin, just as the little rascal was falling from 
a balcony. He has nearly broken her heart since, 
but she goes to Tenos regularly every year with 
a little silver baby, which she hangs up in the 
church, and which the monks just as regularly melt up 
along with ten thousand other offerings and sell for 
good coin. Should Anna forget one year to make 
the promised offering, Vassili would surely die. 
People suffering from fever must call upon St. John, 
those who have small-pox upon St. Barbara, women 
in child-birth must seek the assistance of St. Elev- 
theria, and persons in danger of drowning would do 
well to turn to St. Nikolas in their distress. 

Artificial funeral wreaths, of enormous size and 
frequently made of violets, may be either rented or 
bought. Bridal wreaths are displayed in boxes, in 
pairs. They must be bought, as they are hung up in 
the bedchamber after the ceremony as a permanent 
ornament, something as marriage certificates are some- 
times framed and hung in the country regions of 
America. 



MODERN ATHENS 

The priests' tailors are a feature of Evangellistria, 
the other of the two streets of which I spoke. Their 
sign is a pair of crossed scissors and a huge priest's 
hat. These shops may also be known by the strips 
of gold and silver embroidery in their windows and 
the bolts of purple and black cloth. The painters 
of eikons are also to be found on Evangellistria 
Street. 

But there are modern stores in Athens, too, where 
one finds all the latest electrical devices, the pattern of 
cloth worn most recently by the Prince of Wales and 
the most recent Yankee invention — anything in fact, 
except a wooden chopping-bowl or a man's shirt that 
buttons behind. Coming from the quaint, mediaeval 
quarter into a London or German emporium on 
Stadium Street, is like jumping from the Middle Ages 
into the present century. 

Shopping is a more elaborate, time-consuming and 
minute process even than with us. The Oriental 
method of doing business still prevails. The dealer 
sets a price, the buyer another, and often three or four 
hours of patient will contest pass before a compromise 
is reached. The patron asks " How is this piece 
of silk P " " One dollar a yard " is the reply. " Thirty 
cents " is offered. The merchant is thrown into some- 
thing resembling an apoplectic fit. He swears by his 
father's soul that it cost ninety-five cents. The lady 
takes a seat with a sigh, and after twenty minutes, in- 
quires, innocently, " Finally, thirty cents ? " " Never ! 

82 



MODERN ATHENS 

But to keep you and not lose your custom, you may 
have it for what I paid, ninety-five cents." " Kaie- 
meni ! " sighs the lady, sarcastically (You poor thing)! 
There are a dozen or more women sitting about the 
store. When finally the proprietor comes down to a 
price that one is willing to pay, she rises, receives her 
bundle and departs, declaring, good-naturedly, that she 
has been swindled, and that she will never come back 
again. The business part of the town is largely com- 
posed of streets devoted to single industries. Thus 
the brass workers are all together on a thorough- 
fare appropriately called Hephaestus Street. They 
hammer out of brass such things as cooking imple- 
ments, dippers for making coffee, tall candle-sticks. 
The din of their pounding is deafening. " Shoe 
Lane " is a quaint, narrow street, much frequented by 
tourists. It is festooned with tsaroukia, the shoes 
worn by the peasantry, with elaborately ornamented 
belts, tobacco-pouches and similar articles, which the 
workmen make sitting at their benches in wide-open 
doors. 

Visitors to Athens suffer no such annoyance from 
cabmen, couriers, guides, beggars, etc., as in other 
European cities — Naples, for instance, where the 
whole population falls upon the foreigner like a swarm 
of pestilent flies. There is no one to follow you or 
solicit you. The city, moreover, is well policed. The 
officers of the army, as well as the police, are guardians 
of the public peace, and it would not be possible for a 

83 



MODERN ATHENS 

native to dog a foreigner, as the shameless Neapolitans 
do. At the least sign of any sort of a disturbance, 
officers appear on the instant, as if they had sprung 
from the ground. In taking a cab, it is well to arrange 
about price in advance. The large majority of the 
Jehus are honest, and are saints compared with their 
American brethren, but it is a matter of prudence to be 
on the look-out for the possible exception. The regu- 
lar rates within the city limits are one drachma the 
course and three drachmas the hour, until midnight. 
Cabs after midnight are expensive in Athens, as else- 
where. 

I know of no city in the world that has so few 
beggars as Athens. The Greek is too proud by nat- 
ure to take kindly to soliciting alms. Those that do 
exist take up the business as a profession, and are a 
sort of annex to the Church. They exemplify the 
saying of Christ, " The poor ye have with ye always," 
and are cheap and convenient objects for the practice 
of Christian charity. Despite the existence of the one 
Jepton piece (one-fifth of a cent), kept in circulation 
solely for the beggars, many of them are wealthy. For 
the benefit of those contemplating a trip to Athens, 
I will mention that the only effective way to rid one's 
self of a beggar is to jerk the head backward or 
slightly to elevate the eyebrows — the way that the 
gods said " No" in Homeric times.* 

I have spoken mostly about Greek Athens, because 

* aveveve 5e iraWas, Iliad, 6, 31 1. 



MODERN ATHENS 

that is the phase of the city which one cannot know 
without long residence in the shadow of the Acropolis 
— certainly not without a speaking command of the 
language. As for the hotels, the public buildings, the 
museums, the more important of the ancient monu- 
ments, behold, are they not written down in the chron- 
icles of Murray and Baedeker ? In many respects 
Athens is the most delightful of all Mediterranean 
towns, as a place of residence. It is, as it was in Ro- 
man times, a sentimental capital and a resort of scholars. 
One is sure to meet there, sooner or later, on terms of 
charming intimacy, the best of the world's scholars, 
writers, artists, sculptors, and architects. The dip- 
lomatic set is the same as the diplomatic set in all 
other capitals, and the circle of interesting people thus 
brought together is augmented by the archaeological 
institutes of France, Germany, England, and the 
United States. 

The American Institute of Classical Studies is a 
beautiful building whose balconies command a view of 
Hymettus, the Attic plain and the distant sea. Its 
learned director, Dr. Rufus B. Richardson, has greatly 
distinguished himself by his discoveries at Corinth, 
where the school is now carrying on excavations. Rich 
people who wish to advance the cause of science and 
sustain the lustre of the American name in a peaceful 
field, should not forget this most excellent and ably 
conducted institute. They should emulate the example 
of Dr. Joseph Clark Hoppin of Bryn Mawr, who has 

85 



MODERN ATHENS 

recently founded a scholarship for young women wish- 
ing to finish their studies at Athens, and of other 









The Nike Apteros and the 
•Propylaea, Acropolis. 



enlightened gentlemen who have made contributions 
to the excavation fund. Under most favorable cir- 
cumstances the Americans must be wide awake to keep 

86 



MODERN ATHENS 

pace with Drs. Dorpfeldt and Homolle of the Ger- 
man and French schools. Nor are the Greeks them- 
selves behind in this branch of investigation, led as 
they are by the able and energetic Dr. Kavvadias, to 
whose labors are largely due the fact that the National 
Museum is admirably arranged and contains treasures 
of inestimable value. Herein many lectures of the vari- 
ous schools are given, and rooms are let furnished to 
students. Much of the work on a great publication 
that is soon to be brought out by American students 
under the direction of Professor Charles Waldstein, 
embodying the results of the excavations at the Argive 
HeraeJ-um, has been done in a room of the Athens 
museum. Mr. Herbert De Cou, formerly instructor 
in Sanscrit, and later in Greek at the University of 
Michigan, is working there now on the bronze de- 
partment of the book. He was sent over by the 
Archaeological Society of America. 

The main difficulty in the way of learning the 
modern Greek tongue is found in the fact that the 
teachers are nearly all anxious to air their knowl- 
edge of the ancient language, and they impart to 
their pupils a hodgepodge that is neither the one 
thing nor the other. This difficulty is increased by 
the absolute worthlessness of the dictionaries, which 
are pedantic compilations from the ancient lexicons. 
Eugene Rangave's text-book, recently published by 
Ginn & Co., is a fair book for beginners, and I can 
confidently recommend my old teacher, Professor 

87 



MODERN ATHENS 

Charilaos Poulios, of Democritus Street, to anyone 
desiring the services of an intelligent and skilful man. 
Unfortunately, the professor does not know any 
English. Sixty drachmas a month is sufficient remu- 




Choragic Monument of Lysicrates. 

neration for any of the teachers. Those seeking more 

are frauds, in many instances. 

The classical graduate of one of our colleges should 

be able to read news items in the daily papers almost 

88 
L.ofC. 



MODERN ATHENS 

from the start. The editorials are a different matter. 
There are about fifty papers printed in the city, daily, 
weekly, and monthly, of which the principal are the 
A sty, Acropolis, and Neologos, each morning ; the Estia 
and Ephemeris, afternoon sheets, and the Kodon and 
Romeos, weeklies. The Acropolis claims a daily circu- 
lation of ten thousand. 

The Acropolis is the liveliest of the Athenian 
dailies, with a policy that renders it comparable with 
a progressive American sheet. It has the best foreign 
news service and its editorials are fearless. Its savage 
criticisms of the army several years ago so enraged the 
officers that a number of them fell upon the editorial 
rooms and wrecked them. 

There is not much solidarity among the literary 
workers of Athens, nor does there exist any school of 
enthusiasts as in London or Paris. A few names, 
however, are worthy of mention, of men who are 
working along original lines and interpreting the na- 
tive life and character. Demetrious Bikelas is known 
in America for his " Tales of the ^Egean," which has 
been translated into English. His short story, " The 
Plain Sister," should be included in all collections, 
however limited in number, which aim to give the 
best short stories of modern literature. Mr. Bikelas 
is wealthy and resides, during a portion of each year, 
in a pretty house which he has recently built. He 
speaks English perfectly. His translations from 
Shakespeare are the best that exist in modern Greek. 

89 



MODERN ATHENS 

George Drosines is the author of many poems and 
several novels, among which are " A Campaigner's 
Tales," "The Herb of Love," "Amaryllis." 

George Soures is, perhaps, the best known of 
Athenians among the Athenians themselves. He is 
editor of a satirical weekly, Soures 's Romeos, written en- 
tirely in verse, even to the date and the advertisements. 
He has a biting wit, encyclopaedic knowledge, a keen 
gift of ridicule, and remarkable facility in versifica- 
tion. He is familiarly known as " The Modern 
Aristophanes," and is a real power in a land where 
ridicule is feared even more than bullets. 

Among the modern playwrights the one man who 
has written tragedy worthy of comparison with, say, 
that of Sardou, is Demetrius Vernardakes, the famous 
philologist. His " Fausta " is a work of considerable 
merit. There are a host, too, of minor poets, and 
many of them have written songs that have caught 
the popular fancy, and are sung by moonlight by the 
fishermen of the ^Egean, or at early dawn by the lone 
watchers of the vineyards. Is there a Greek living 
who does not know " To jProto Astro," by Ioannes 
Polemes ? I can think of nothing that brings back to 
my mind more sweetly the land of purple sunsets, of 
glorious moonlights, of great memories, of softest 
skies, of all enfolding seas. I hear it now in fancy, 
sung by students to the soft throbbing of a guitar. I 
smell again the breath of the pepper-trees that line 
the street of beautiful Queen Amaliea, long dead, and 

90 



MODERN ATHENS 

I hear the ecstasy of the nightingales deep in the 
King's garden : 

NIGHT'S FIRST STAR. 

The first of all the stars of night 

In heaven is shyly beaming, 
The waves play in their gowns of white 

While mother sea lies dreaming. 

Among the leaves on gentle wing 

A balmy zephyr flutters, 
The nightingale begins to sing 

And all love's sorrow utters. 

For you the zephyr sighs, mv love, 

In passion low and tender, 
For you the little stars above 

Dispense their yearning splendor. 

For you the tiny waves, ashore 

Their garnered foam are bribing; \f 

For you his love-song, o'er and o'er, 
The nightingale is singing. 

For you from yonder mountain high 
The moon pours out her measure 5 

For you all day I moan and sigh, 
My little dear, my treasure ! 



91 



SEP 28 1901 



